out what it was she saw in him that would make her request a deployment to Iraq when she could have had her choice of assignments. Since the day she arrived at Al Asad Air Base, his mission had abruptly switched from combat to keeping her safe.
But he couldn’t escape the fact that his recurring nightmares had almost become reality. Holly had very nearly been killed. He’d read the incident report a dozen times, but the damned thing was he couldn’t recall a single detail of that day, or the attack that had nearly ended his life. The doctors told him the amnesia was temporary; a direct result of the concussion he’d sustained from the grenade. He’d been assured that his memory would return, but Shane had a nagging sense of unease that until it did, he was missing something vital.
“I wanted to come back sooner, but we’ve been busy at the track, what with the Preakness coming up next month,” his father was saying. He shifted uncomfortably. “But I’d have come anyway, if you’d wanted me to.”
Which clearly Shane hadn’t or he would have called him. His father didn’t say the words, but it was all there on his face.
Shane sighed.
“You didn’t need to come all the way up here,” he finally said, referring to the four-hour drive from Chatham, Virginia, to the medical center in Washington, D.C. “They’re releasing me today.”
James Rafferty dragged a hand through his hair and a fleeting frown crossed his face. “But that’s why I came,” he finally said. “To bring you home.”
Home.
pImages** of the three-room apartment over Benjamin’s Drugstore flitted through Shane’s mind. That cramped space had never been home to Shane. He hadn’t had a home since the day his mother had died and he and his father had moved to the pristine community of Chatham. The place may as well have been called Stepford, with its immaculate, white-pillared mansions and perfect, tree-lined streets. He’d fit into the quaint town like a rough-hewn square peg into a neat, round hole.
After the death of his mother, Shane’s father had withdrawn from everyone, including Shane. For nearly two years, he did little except drink and sleep. First he’d lost his job, and then he’d lost the house until, eventually, the only thing his father had left was his reputation—and Shane had known that unless they acted quickly, he’d lose that, too. His father had needed another job and the only thing he really knew was horses. Race horses, to be precise. He’d trained some of the best horses ever to run a racetrack, and once Shane had put the word out that his father was ready to get back into the business, the offers had begun trickling in.
Shane had chosen a job for his father at a stable in Chatham, despite the fact the position was not lead trainer. After two years away from the track, his father had needed to prove himself before anyone would give him that kind of opportunity again. It had taken several years, but James Rafferty was firmly back on his feet and despite the fact he could afford a new home, he hadn’t left the tiny apartment over the drug store, insisting that it suited his needs.
But returning to Chatham was the last thing Shane wanted to do, not because of his father but because of her. She’d be at her parents’ home, recovering from her own injuries and Shane didn’t want to risk running into her. Too much had happened for them to ever go back to the way things had been when they were teenagers.
He’d first seen Holly Durant soon after he’d moved to Chatham. He’d been barely seventeen and he’d taken a job working at the drugstore. Holly and her clique of giggling, sashaying girlfriends from Chatham Hall, the affluent girls’ boarding school in town where she was a day student, had liked to come into the drugstore for after school. He still probably never would have met her if he hadn’t become friends with her older brother, Mitch. Even then, when he and Mitch had become damn near inseparable and Shane spent more time at the Durant house than he did at his own, he hadn’t really made an effort to get to know Holly. He didn’t want to know her. Just the thought of talking to her had terrified him.
She’d been too pretty. Too mouthy.
Too good for him.
So he’d all but ignored her, telling himself there was no sense in chasing a pipe dream. Look where it had gotten his father. Nope, better to stick with what you knew and stay where you belonged.
And he definitely didn’t belong in Chatham.
He couldn’t imagine he’d be welcome there now, anyway, not after what had happened. Holly’s father was a retired Navy admiral and he and Holly’s mother were keystones of the small community. Shane had nothing but admiration and respect for them and he didn’t think he could bear their censure. After all, he’d let them down.
He’d let her down. He’d failed her.
He should have protected Holly but instead, he’d nearly gotten her killed. He’d read the incident report, which indicated he’d abandoned his position atop the gun truck and had raced through the firefight toward Holly without due cause. He might not be able to recall the attack, but he could guess why he’d done it—he’d wanted to protect Holly. Instead, she’d been forced to protect him and had nearly been killed in the process.
“I’m not going home,” he said darkly.
His father’s eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean you’re not coming home? I ain’t touched your room. It’s just the same as when you left it.” He indicated Shane’s leg. “’Course, the stairs might give you some trouble, but we’ll manage.”
“I said I’m not going back.”
“Where will you go, then? You got no place else to stay.” His father sounded baffled.
Shane looked away. He was right. He had nowhere else to go. He’d joined the military in order to get away from his father, from Holly, and from Chatham. Since then, he’d never stayed in one place long enough to buy a house or even lease an apartment. The doctors said he couldn’t return to active duty for at least three weeks, maybe longer. He could probably stay at the Marine barracks in Washington, D.C. or the Marine Corps base in Quantico until he recuperated, but the prospect held little appeal for him.
“He’s going to stay at the lake house.”
Both men turned at the sound of the deep voice, but Shane’s father was the first to recover, striding forward to grasp Mitch Durant’s hand and pump it furiously.
“Hell, boy,” he said, “it’s damned nice to see you. How long has it been? Three years? Four? You look good. The uniform suits you. How’s your sister? I hear she saved my boy’s life. I’d like to thank her properly, if she’s up for a visit.”
In his crisp Navy dress uniform, Mitch looked every inch an officer and a gentleman. The double silver bars on his collar denoted his rank as Lieutenant and for the first time, Shane was acutely conscious of the difference in their status. The last he’d heard, Mitch was doing a six-month deployment aboard the USS Lincoln, an aircraft carrier that patrolled Middle Eastern waters. He’d obviously come home to be with his sister and another pang of guilt washed over Shane.
“Holly will recover, sir,” Mitch was saying. “Her arm is busted up pretty good, but otherwise she’s okay.”
He was glossing over her condition, and Shane knew it. By the time he’d regained consciousness and recovered enough to even think about Holly, he’d been told that she’d already been released from the hospital. He’d persisted in knowing her condition and after days of badgering the nursing
